Felis Silvestris Catus
by crimeson-plasma
Summary: Getting turned into a cat was a thought so remote, the possibility of being affected by the problem hadn't ever occured to Dr Crane. It was unimaginable, until the very moment it happened and Jonathan found himself transformed into a cat. Pseudo-sequel of 'A First Shadow', and a purposefully cliche AUs where a character gets transformed into an animal.


_Much like 'A First Shadow', the idea behind this fanfic is the (quite) cliché plot found all over the place: A character is turned into an animal, often a cat, by some magical means, and are left to cope with the change in their lives._

 _Now, unlike the vampire AU, there isn't much of a reason for picking Scarecrow as the one to suffer this particular fate other than the irony of the situation itself. Though I imagine quite a lot of classic cliché fanfic plots could easily work with Scarecrow's character, this is probably the one that seems to fit the least. Thus why I had to write this from this particular point of view._

"So I was there, looking at Batman, and you had to see his face- the defeat in his stupid little eyes! I will never-" Nigma was looking exultant, intrigued and fascinated by his own story. A wide grin was set in his face, ignoring everything which he was meant to be doing. Particularly the computer screen.

The Riddler being in his base had a logical explanation, namely that Jonathan needed Edward's help in fixing his computer. Something which, regrettably, he couldn't do with the same effectiveness as the fellow rogue at all. The thing was slow, shut down and crashed frequently, and simply couldn't fulfil its function. Which meant he, for once, couldn't advance with his plans to wreak havoc upon Gotham.

"My computer. Will it take long, Edward?" Crane demanded, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to ignore the man who sat before him. What should have been a quick fix for his computer was dragging longer and longer. Too long. His hands itched, and he wished nothing more than get rid of the man before him.

Nigma frowned, grin disappearing even before he continued talking. "It will take as much as it has to. So I was saying, he-"

"I know what you were saying, you always tell us this story. I know it by heart. I need my computer," Crane barked.

"I would do this much faster if you weren't here, looming over me!" He shouted.

He sighed, this was taking far too long. "I wouldn't be looming over you if you just did this one thing, Edward."

"I wouldn't have to be here if you stopped downloading bloody toolbars, Jon! You can barely see the page with all the toolbars you have, this is the problem!"

"The problem is that you put in my computer something odd," he attempted to explain. It'd be no use at all, and he could feel his fingers twitching already. He wanted to dose him with fear gas. The larger the dose the better.

"The problem is you click whatever ads appear on screen, that's why you have so many Spybots. You have a degree, Jon, Jesus!" Riddler exclaimed, Batman story completely forgotten. He looked enraged, having even abruptly stood up from where he had been sitting on. Fists clenched and breath heavy and noisy, so utterly unlike the seemingly relaxed man he so desperately attempted to be. "You're a reasonably clever man, yet use your computer like a grandmother attracted by shiny lights. So please, please, bring me a sandwich whilst I manage the gargantuan exploit of bringing your computer back from the dead."

Crane stood up, resolving to leave the man alone until he fixed his computer. Moment upon which he'd force upon Nigma the worst type of fear gas he had on him at this moment. He turned, leaving the room in long strides and heading towards the area of the abandoned building flat he had turned into his lab. He was furious. Seething.

The rooms were old and worn, the moldy interior matching the building's ruined exterior. It just barely seemed to hold itself together, which made it the perfect hideout. The rooms were mostly empty aside from some technology and gadgets here and there in what seemed to have been the main room years ago, and an assortment of various chemicals and glasses in the other. Entering the lab, he shut the door behind him if only to block Nigma from his sight. The window to a side was open, leaving a clear view of the streets below. Dawn would break soon and the streets were thus suitably empty, with only what seemed to be a kid standing far away.

Crane picked up a flask, only to pour it onto a liquid within another one. Ammonia. The breeze flowed in, the warmth of summer evident in the very smell of the air. The mixed liquids started turning into steam as he dropped something else into the flask, hissing as they did so. It was harmless, he knew it was, and he allowed himself to breathe normally. He eyed the filled syringes sitting at a desk to his right. Nigma couldn't have finished fixing his computer yet, it'd have to wait. He breathed in some more, looking outside and onto the streets again, only to suddenly realise he was falling onto the floor.

He braced for impact.

Breaking the surface of unconsciousness, Crane groaned, only to find that the only sound which he heard instead was a meow. A gentle meow, with nothing to do with the groan he had sworn he had let out. Everything ached, like the pains he remembered suffering as a child, an. He could only hear a somewhat distant voice, its tone obnoxious and loud as it shouted something about a glass of water, but he couldn't focus entirely on it.

He took in his surroundings, feeling his head pound with pain, and slowly realised that everything was far too large. Far, far too large. The fear gas-filled syringes he had been eying with so much interest before towered over him on its desk, as did the flasks and chemicals he was so used to seeing. Apparently he had been unconscious long enough for the midday to settle in, and the room was considerably warmer than what he remembered.

The voice grew louder, and it wasn't until he turned to look in its direction that he realised that a very frustrated Riddler was towering above him in the room. "-Beeflet toolbar, what is that? How did you even find it?" He sounded angry, really angry, and was looking around himself quickly. Couldn't he see him? Nigma gazed at the open window and frowned, coming to a quick conclusion to whatever it was he had been thinking.

"He just left me?" he muttered, tone of voice growing darker. He stepped forwards towards the window, shutting it loudly.

Edward looked irritated at the very least, his pride likely hurt by some unknown offence. Crane resolved to put a stop to the anger before it turned into anything else, dreading the thought of an argument with someone who'd likely just speak in riddles. He opened his mouth in order to attempt to draw the fellow rogue's attention, only to hear another meow instead. It was only then that Nigma seemed to notice him, and the figure that towered over him turned slightly to stare right down at him.

"Jon has a cat?" he asked to no one in particular, a half grin appearing. Edward immediately looked away from him, however, and instead opted for pacing half nervously around the room.

There was a cat? He certainly didn't keep any. He could practically feel Edward's narcissism at the comment, the surprise at a discovery that simply was impossible. Why would there be a cat inside this room? He attempted to shout, only to instead let out an angry yowl and arch his back in a hiss, fur puffing up as he did so.

Wait. Wait. A hiss? A tail?

Crane turned around in an attempt to get a better look, only to flop over onto the floor. He heard Nigma snort. Apparently he had the man's full attention. It was then when he then noticed. Four feet. Or paws, rather. Which he really shouldn't have. There had to have a good explanation. A logical explanation. He had been mixing up a few things when he had fallen unconscious, so why was he like this? A bit of ammonia, sulphur, and other harmless things couldn't affect anyone in this... way.

So why?

Was it a joke? Undoubtedly. It had certainly been one years ago, back at Georgia with the crows and his great grandmother, but the weirdness of it all had just seemed to grow and grow with time until spandex costumes had become a daily thing. But burlap masks and Arkham aside, no matter how much of a joke his life seemed to have become with time, this was too much. It was too odd.

But this?

Jonathan closed his eyes and sighed, cursing whatever unfortunate luck had caused him to be in this particular predicament. How he had ended up like this didn't matter, or at least that's what he told himself, and of course it paled in comparison to what he had discovered upon waking up within his hideout that night with Nigma knocking on his door. He looked down at his paws, his _white_ paws, and saw the undeniable reality.

Mainly, that he had turned into a cat.

A cat. Him. In an impromptu Kafkaesque transformation with no logical reason or sense behind it. Or rather, a kitten. If he were to judge by his apparent size. The Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, the one who was fear personified. A Kitten. A damned kitten. All after awakening and finding himself cursed by what might have very well been spotting Catwoman in Gotham over a week ago.

He cursed again, yowl coming out of his mouth, and feeling his fur keep bristling. He attempted to get up again, a tougher job than what it seemed, as being a quadruped meant that moving and getting into one's own feet whilst balancing his body with a tail was a tougher job than what it seemed.

A kitten! A white – and he really meant _pure_ white – kitten.

However, effort _did_ sometimes correlate with success, and once he _had_ managed to get onto his feet he promptly crashed into the floor again. Head first and everything this time. Four legs plus a tail were harder to control than just two, after all, and he was left stranded at an awkward position for several more minutes. Edward just stared at him, probably more surprised by the presence of a kitten being there than by his complete disappearance. He attempted to call Nigma and tell him who he was, but only a delicate meow came out again. He practically sounded scared, distaste filling him at that thought. Him. Scared. Because of this. Ha. No amount of strange costumes could compare to the joke that this was. Apparently getting turned into a cat was a real possibility. One that he now had to fix. Somehow.

The man towering above him stopped pacing, instead returning to the door that led into the makeshift lab. His eyes looked down and stared at him again. "Damn it! Insulting someone as brilliant as me. I'll just take his computer and cat. It's his fault for leaving me here!" he shrilled, reaching to catch Crane.

Jonathan yowled and arched his back, managing a loud hiss as he attempted to move and run away. He'd only manage to return to normal if he stayed here in his hideout. He needed an exit, an out from the room and away from the towering rogue. He failed to move correctly again, predictably, and could only stare down at his tiny white paws as he was picked up by Edward. His tail twitched, and as the distance between himself and the floor grew bigger and bigger he noticed his thoughts becoming too insubstantial to truly grasp. His mind felt hazy, he wanted to sleep.

He had been a cat for a week, and he was starting to wonder why he shouldn't be.

During the day he huddled atop of desks in Edward's hideout, overseeing whatever activity or plan the fellow rogue had undertaken the task to prepare. At night he struggled to escape the location, failing every time.

His now superior night vision and hearing was as good as useless. Going out the front door was a no go. Avoiding Edward's traps was already a tough enough task normally without knowledge of them. Something made even tougher in his tiny form. He had no intention of investigating about Edward's security measures in this flat, particularly not like this. It had taken some perilous falls for him to learn how to move smoothly already, and falls hurt more in his weakened condition. The windows were just as impossible. He had managed to reach the border of one a couple of times whilst Edward slept, but a kitten wasn't well equipped at all to open one. Even if he could, the matter of how to reach the floor of the alleys safely and without breaking bones remained. And further, how to even reach one of his own hideouts without being run over or eaten. He could only hope Edward would take him to one of his own hideouts eventually.

So he was left to patrol the flat in vain hopes of escaping, only observing the grey skies visible from the windows and Edward build up gadgets and planning things. He had to admit to a mild curiosity at the neat stacks of paper and collections of photographs, screens, and information lying everywhere around. Had anyone noticed Scarecrow was missing? He knew many ought to have known he was at large in Gotham, and not just the Batman. Though his forgetfulness wasn't helping him at all. There were a lot of things Jonathan already couldn't remember even after a week, but the events of the last month weren't one of them.

Jonathan paced the room, a safe distance away from Edward's gadgets, but froze as he saw the rogue walking into the room. He remained still, each footstep sending vibrations all across the floor. A small box was in the man's hands, heavy-looking and labelled with a big 'Wayne Enterprises' logo at the front. Edward set it atop of a table, opening it with ease and pulling out what looked like some sort of mobile device. He examined it, scowled, and set it atop a stack of papers on the table, right beside the box. Jonathan made a running leap onto a chair, and onto a pile of papers on the desk. He landed in front of Edward, who was scowling at him. Perhaps, if he spent enough time in front of him, he'd realise who he was.

"I'd get rid of you if you weren't Scarecrow's cat. And we don't want him to mope now, do we?" Riddler said, eying him with a touch of disgust. "He already wears enough black nail polish, angsty poetry would be too much." Jonathan scowled, letting out a hiss. Him owning a cat? Angsty poetry?

Riddler turned to the table, eying the fallen stack of papers. He pushed him away, making Jonathan move to a nearby chair, and immediately put them back into their proper order. Jonathan couldn't say he had bothered to check what they were about, likely some plan Edward was preparing. Or information about someone. Jonathan eyed the papers with half interest, not entirely sure I he was interested enough to read whatever the tech-wizard was working on.

Edward walked away to face at a collection of screens showcasing a variety of Gotham streets. Some empty, and some of them not so much. The screens flickered frequently, changing to show other streets and different people. Jonathan kept himself sitting atop of the chair, staring at Nigma as he scanned the screens. He was looking for something, or someone. He often was, but he had a different expression on his face this time.

"He still hasn't appeared even once," Edward muttered, "not even a crime or signal of life from him. No news, no information. Just the damned cat." He scrubbed at his face, keeping focused on the streets.

That apparently was enough to get the man's attention back to him, and Nigma focused his eyes on him. "I thought Jonathan would keep you as scrawny as he himself is, but apparently he feeds you better than himself. You refuse to eat animal food." Jonathan hissed, taking offence, but Edward turned yet again, mind puzzling over something, and was back to trying to locate him.

"I'll have to see if I can locate him. The Batman hasn't made a move to investigate him, but…" he tugged at his hair, rotten mood beginning to show in the man's posture. He couldn't help but notice, of course. Edward's hair was slightly dishevelled, and would have been more so if it was longer, alongside light bags showing under his eyes and a rather tired expression. In sharp contrast, his suit. As bright and impeccable as always. Just like it had constantly been for the last days, aside from the random white cat hair that he kept brushing onto the suit. And which Edward kept cleaning off.

The Riddler couldn't figure out his location, and that small fact was apparently keeping him awake.

It'd be flattering if he was any other sort of a man.

Jonathan kept himself composed, opting to just stare at the other man in the room. Then, silence, with only the sound of sheets of paper getting moved around and piled yet again. Edward turned again to look at the screens. "He can't hide himself forever. Not from me. He can't disappear into thin air."

The mobster was eying Jonathan like the odd presence he was, clutched carefully in the Nigma's arms, whilst the big hunk of a man recounted his particular excursion. Edward had taken to petting him at some point in the last week, perhaps for a soothing feeling or to concentrate. Whichever it was, the white hairs in his suits had become increasingly frequent, much to his annoyance, and the presence of the white kitten starkly odd to whomever talked to the rogue.

"Not a sign of him, boss. From what I've heard from the police, Batman suspects he's planning something big." The big hulk of a man looked, seemed, nervous. Afraid. A look in stark contrast with his muscles and the comparatively petty man which was currently holding him up.

"I already know that!" the Edward hissed. "The likes of you wouldn't ever figure out the uttermost basic of things, but new information is the minimum thing I expect each day. Not things which all the intellectually challenged beings in Gotham have known for days."

"I did my job, boss. I'm just telling you what I heard from an officer."

Edward clenched one of his fists. His heart pace quickened, the individual heart beats being clearly felt in Jonathan's small body, and took a breath in. He maintained his composture, opting to pet Jonathan's ears and head with the seemingly relaxed hand. Jonathan struggled to not purr. He felt Edward's nerves soothing as the man lost at least a fraction of the anger he felt.

In front of him, the mobster instead just kept staring at him, and Jonathan was certain that he was as certain as he was that he was the sole element that didn't fit within any room which Edward willingly came to inhabit. The mobster knew as well as him that, indeed, he wasn't anywhere in Gotham's streets right now. However, the man currently holding him wouldn't take that for an answer, as the intense focus of the man in pinpointing the Scarecrow's location ever since he had been left alone showed. Jonathan closed his eyes, ignoring Edward as he insulted the mobster and demanded answers.

"-the only problem is that fools like you wouldn't be able to discover Jonathan even if you had him before you. I can guarantee you this, though. I'll find him, and discover everything he's been planning for the past weeks. And he'll regret betraying what he had agreed in this way. He'll regret it."

Edward stroked him as he said it, pulse rising again. Jonathan kept his eyes closed. He turned towards a window, and scanned the skylight visible from it.

Jonathan sat on Edward's pillow, despite the fact that the man had already shooed and pushed him off of it quite a number of times already. His tail swished from side to side as he studied the printed images and information on the newspaper Edward was reading. He could recognise the human beings on the picture, all dressed in bright orange suits. One of them, a gaunt, grim, and thin man stood out at the centre of it. His eyes were blue, very blue. He was important, he knew that much. He was the human Edward was looking for. Who a lot of people were looking for, judging by the large print announcing a disappearance. He couldn't place or recognise him, however.

He glanced at him, particularly at how the paper wrinkled around where his clenched fists held it. His elbows laid comfortably atop of the sides of a nearby chair, suit pristine and with one of his legs crossed over the other. Edward placed the newspaper atop of the table and stood up and walked towards the mattress Jonathan was currently occupying, grabbing and dropping him onto the floor in order to lie atop of the bed. Jonathan tumbled into the floor, meowing his discontent as soon as he felt himself away from the pillow.

Edward stared at the ceiling, putting together whatever puzzle he was thinking of. "It isn't your pillow, you know," he commented.

Jonathan stretched, displeased at no longer being able to rest. He opted to prowl around the small room, his tail moving from side to side quicker. He moved towards the closest table, opting to sharpen his claws in the otherwise intact wood, knowing how it'd anger Edward.

True to that the man's eyes immediately snapped on him as soon as he heard the sound of scratching against the wood, but otherwise didn't pay him attention or utter a word. Edward looked away as quickly as he had looked in his direction, probably concentrated on what he had read. He covered his eyes with one hand, sighing whilst his expression remained surprisingly neutral. He looked exhausted and irritable, even though he had spent the day reading, staring at screens, and making calls. The soft bags under his eyes looking strange alongside the neat suit and clothes, and Jonathan couldn't help but notice their colour.

Slowly, Jonathan approached the bed, jumping on top of it once close enough in an altogether hesitant way. Circling Edward, he opted to lie atop the man's chest and curled into a semicircle. He wasn't pushed off the bed this time, and instead the man petted and reached for him. His grip was tight, too tight, and Jonathan found himself feeling Edward's pulse again. The sound of it grounded him in the moment. The more time passed, the less he remembered about himself. Things were becoming increasingly hazy, and he didn't like that.

He rubbed his face against his hand.

His presence had come to be accepted amongst the mobsters that received orders from Edward, raised eyebrows or not. No questions were asked about the cat which followed their boss around, whether he was held by the man or, as he was now, lied on his shoulders. Questions had ceased to be over a month ago, as had the services and presences of any who had asked them. Uncommon presences, aside from the strange humans who often arrived to tell Edward things.

This time, night time, judging by the smell in the air, there were people in the strange and foreign space. A non-home, with nothing of the comfortable things Jonathan had come to be used to expect about the spaces Edward lived and hid in. It was empty, only containing the unpleasant scent of an otherwise familiar mix of chemicals, dusty sealed boxes of unknown contents, and a group of humans. A big group of humans, all standing before Edward and him, cursing and muttering and carrying weapons. He had hissed at them a couple of times at them, hiding around Edward's neck when too many came to notice and stare at him, but otherwise remained peaceful. Edward's suit was straight, completely perfect aside from the white cat hairs on his shoulders and blazer. Standing out starkly from the storage space he was in.

"-do you all understand?" Edward deadpanned at the group of men, who only nodded, weapons still and (now) sheathed.

Edward smirked, taking a breath in and opening his mouth in preparation to continue what he had been saying. "Good, then go and do it. You all ought to be able to understand my orders well enough." The men turned to leave, determination mixing with fear in their eyes and postures. Jonathan felt joy at the sight.

One of them, however, didn't leave, and approached Edward from a side. "Joker knows where he is."

Edward's shoulders tightened at the comment, and Jonathan hissed at the perceived discomfort Edward felt. He only got a glimpse of Edward's face before he turned his whole body to face the unknown man. He clenched his cane, having it make a loud resounding noise as it contacted the concrete floor.

"Then you best wish you don't fail in bringing me the location, or that you're wrong about the information," he said in an irritated and cynical voice.

Ha. Like they could. Humans were incompetent, every single one of them. No one had figured out yet that he wasn't called Fluff, though he supposed that it could be worse. At least his presence had come to be accepted.

The mobster nodded and left, leaving Edward and himself alone in the unpleasant room. Edward sighed, and turned a hundred and eighty degrees to start walking towards a set of metal stairs outside. He started climbing up them, and Jonathan dug his claws into Edward's shoulder to avoid falling, certain that it'd leave noticeable holes in the suit. Edward eventually came into a halt in front of a somewhat familiar outside wooden door. It looked old, as did the windows of the flat he obviously wanted to enter. Old, but familiar nonetheless. Edward said something, but Jonathan decided to keep perched atop his shoulder as the door opened. Making sure to curl his tail around his neck and keep his claws out.

The inside of the building was as old as it looked form the outside, the worn down furniture within truly fitting the exterior look. The flat itself looked small, and probably counted with very few rooms. It wasn't empty, though lacked any recognisable objects aside from a lone computer. It was a total contrast from the places Edward lived at.

Edward, however, ignored it and marched across the room he had entered to and into another. There were a couple of flasks lying about, their exterior covered with dust. The smell was similar to the one he had smelt earlier in the storage space, and he decided to jump from Edward's shoulder and into the floor in order to explore the space. Edward ignored it, and walked towards the flasks in order to examine their contents. He looked as if he was puzzling over something, attempting to find the conclusion to an unknown problem.

Jonathan hissed, not entirely liking Edward's actions for a reason unknown to him.

Getting shot at during an unfortunate encounter with mobsters wasn't what Jonathan had been aiming at or wanted at all, even as he had jumped at the strange menacing man with every intention to claw as much as he could of the human's exposed flesh. He had gotten used to helping Edward as much as he could, of course, even if he did prefer to be petted rather than exert himself like this around human weapons. Of course, his body could only take so much, and he soon felt himself crashing against concrete, warmth seeping around him.

Then? A curse or two, alongside more gunshots. Then? A sudden, abrupt, silence, only followed by more curses, expressions of surprise, and, strangely, Edward's confused voice.

"I refuse to believe we're in a world where this can happen."

Jonathan awakened from unconsciousness to see smaller furniture, papers, and objects around him. Pale light shone in through a window to his right. Night time.

Crane's body ached, though nothing too major. He groaned, a human groan, the sound standing off as foreign amidst the silence which otherwise surrounded him. He was back in one of Edward's hideouts, he could tell that much, but otherwise couldn't stand up or fully concentrate. He couldn't feel his tail, and that worried him. He couldn't feel his claws either, or his paws. Had the shot wounded it in some way? He hoped not, it'd be difficult to move around without them.

He knew it had been a hectic week, and an unfortunate encounter with the Batman had been followed by even more with fellow rogues and unhappy mobsters. He had been shot at, pummeled with bullets. Or beaten bloody. He couldn't remember. He breathed in, his chest protesting at the movement, and only then did he feel the bandages covering his torso. He moved himself up slightly, wanting to see around him and avoid any pain, and managed to do so just barely enough to notice the figure of the human staring at him from the other corner of the room. A green suit, Jonathan noticed, the colour standing out amongst the bland white walls. He squinted, staring. Edward. Awake and staring straight at his face. Scowling much more than usual.

"Jonathan."

Only then did he noticed his hands and his fingers. Felt a dry throat and words wanting to bubble up to form coherent sentences and questions. It was weird. Too weird, felt weird. He wanted his tail, paws, and claws back. His head felt foggy, and he let himself rest against the pillows propped up behind him. He was alive, and that was all he needed to know for now. Edward was there, of course, but that was normal.

He decided he didn't want to do anything in particular. Sleeping was much easier, and he could tell the human, Edward, was about to speak again.

The next time Crane awakened things were smoother. The colours were brighter and his head less hazy. He could feel less pain, and was better aware of things. The room was empty this time, bright light shining through the same open window. The Riddler was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to stare at him.

Ah, of course.

Crane stared back down at his body, lying beneath the covers of a bed. He stared at his hand, the look of fingers strange. He was human, again. No more tails, or paws, or anything else. No more huge objects. No more of the weird events of the last weeks, and no more of the strange losses of memory. No, everything was back to him. He rolled into his feet, almost falling, but this time managing to stand up right enough to wade his way slowly to the only door in the room. He imagined the Riddler would be around, likely besides some computer at the next room.

And that he was. The creak of the wooden door opening immediately attracted an unfaltering stare. A somewhat vague smirk disappearing to leave way to a tense posture. He was blinking, looking confused primarily with a secondary undercurrent of cynicism and betrayal. Genuine betrayal, revealed by Edward's clearly unhappy expression and now closed guard. A television set was on, the news report blasting from a side of the room. A child, Klarion, had been apprehended by Batman. He looked around and at the room Edward had been occupying, resisting the sudden strong urge to prowl the place for mice and birds. He wanted to hiss and claw something, wish his tail from left to right as hard as he could. Apparently spending a few months as a cat would leave a mark in his behavior which would be hard to beat.

The Riddler remained silent, instead only staring at him. The confusion gave way to irritation and even more cynicism, but the half hidden betrayal remained there. It was logical. How often did one's pets turn out to not be pets at all? It took minutes until the man asked a question. A feeling of anticipation set in, he knew what the man would ask.

"How much do you remember?"

Sleeping on top of Edward's pillow. Covering his suits with hair. Lying on his shoulders when travelling around Gotham. Curling up beside him on his lap, chest, sides, and hands, to sleep. Keeping up a constant purr when petted. Listening to his words as he worked on plans and gadgets. Hearing muttered night terrors, and curling closer. Taking comfort in his warmth and presence.

"It's not a difficult question, Crane."

He decided to humour his demands for answers, and managed to speak only after a few false starts and failures at noises only cats were able to make correctly. He saw no use in lying. "I can't remember anything about turning into a cat or the first days as one," _when things turned strange_ , "but all of it."

Edward turned his head away with a concentrated look about him. "Right."

The bitterness and irritation seemed to fade away slowly, but beneath the look of concentration the betrayal remained. That, and a tinge of fear. Things would likely be easier for the tech-wizard if Crane didn't remember anything at all. Was he brushing away the fact that he had been deceived about 'his' cat? Forgiving being unintentionally played? Jonathan resisted the urge to perch himself on the floor and rest his hands in front of him.

Eventually, the Riddler turned to face him again as his glib narcissism returned fully. "Your laptop has been completely fixed for quite some time already, Crane. I expect with your total lack of skills I'll be having to fix it again in but a week. But maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I will coincidentally decide to do that exact thing. I can't have my brilliant plans failing."

Crane was left to stare at him.


End file.
